I must be a freak

because I just don’t “get the fuss” about great weather in October.

The sun is shining.  So what?

It is the hottest summer since Jesus was in nappies.   And?

Endless stories in the papers / Facebook updates / Tweets / photos, all talking about the sun.

How hot it is / how glorious / how wonderful.  How we must all go to the beach.

Why?  The queues on the motorway will be horrific and when you get there you will get a space the size of a flannel, not a beach towel.  And have to put up with kids kicking sand all over you.   I have to admit that would be my idea of hell.   Possibly because we got to enjoy deserted beaches on holiday this year or maybe because I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the sun.  Having spent six years in Saudi and three weeks in the summer for the past few years in the Caribbean, I do love the sun.  I just don’t understand the compulsion to drop everything and go and worship under it because it has turned up a bit late.

Why must we “make the most of it”?  And be made to feel guilty if we don’t?  Why must we drag our kids outside to play in it when they would rather be inside doing something else?  Historically, yes I understand the need for Vitamin D and fresh air but life isn’t like that anymore.

I did feel  guilty yesterday for shutting the curtains and curling up on the sofa with a book.   I didn’t want to go outside and sit in the garden just because the world and his wife were doing it.  A rare treat for me to have a Saturday afternoon with no school run and no football on the telly.  I was damned if I was going to miss the peace and quiet in my own lounge just because the sun had graced us with its presence.

Does that make me a freak?  Or secretly would everybody else liked to have done the same?